


Savior Complex

by LadyLibby



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Apocalypse, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Gore, Language, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Protective Negan, Reformed Negan, Romance, Season 10 Negan, Violence, Zombies, mentioned attempted rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLibby/pseuds/LadyLibby
Summary: Freshly escaped from Alexandria (for the second time), with an idiot kid in toe, Negan stumbles across a woman on a bus about to be overrun by walkers. He saves your life, but neither of you realize how much finding you has saved him.(What if Negan didn't join the Whisperers in 10x05? And what if it was because of you?)
Relationships: Negan/You, Negan/reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I was loving Negan's character development in season 10 and then he joined the Whisperers and it pissed me off. So I decided to change it. And add in the reader. I hope you like it!

Tired isn’t a strong enough word to describe how you feel. Even exhausted pales in comparison to the heaviness in your bones or the unshakable haze clouding your mind. You’re so beyond tired, you feel almost as dead as the undead bastards trying to eat you. 

Getting onto the bus had been a mistake. You should have known better than to enter an enclosed space like that, but you were two days without food and starting to get desperate. And being almost five days without more than a couple of hours of sleep didn’t exactly clarify the decision process. 

The walkers had followed you, by smell or by sound or both you weren’t sure, but three of them shambled their way up onto the abandoned school bus behind you before you could get out. 

You managed to kill the first one, but between the lack of sleep and the oppressive Virginia summer heat, you’d moved too slow to get the second before it tackled you to the ground. Your knife clattered to the ground, lost somewhere underneath the seats. You’re pushing against its decaying chest with your forearm, screaming with effort and desperation because you don’t want to die. 

But you’re so goddamn tired. 

A small voice in the back of your mind, one that’s been getting louder since you’ve left the Grove, tells you to just give up. You’ll never make it out here alone. What’s out there for you to find except close calls and violence and fear? Just give in to what awaits you no matter what– becoming one of them. 

You tell the voice to shut the hell up. The undead is getting closer and closer to your face, its jaws snapping. You can see the other one looming over its shoulder, just as hungry. You struggle and push, your other arm scrabbling blindly under the seats for your knife. Risking turning your head, you strain to look for your only hope of making it out of this situation. Your fingertips barely brush the familiar wooden hilt when the undead is suddenly gone. 

Its body lifts off of you as if by magic, except it’s not magic– it’s a man. He throws the body behind you, following after it and wrenching the emergency exit door open just enough to shove the undead’s head through before slamming the door shut. And then doing it again. And again, until the undead is a mess of brain matter and ooze and shattered skull. 

All you can do is stare, your heart hammering and your hand shaking around your knife. The man stops, breathing heavily as he turns back, looking at you. 

“Damn!” A voice from the other end of the bus shouts, “Classic Negan!” 

You and the man who’d saved you look at the source of the voice, a young guy with a backpack and a wild smile on his face. You grip your knife more tightly, turning back to the closer man, scrambling back onto one of the seats. 

“Woah,” He holds up his hands, “I’m not gonna hurt you. If I wanted that, I would’ve let the dead ones do my work for me.” 

You glance toward his companion, keeping your knife raised. “What about the kid?” 

The man frowned slightly as he looked over at his younger companion. He seemed to direct his answer more to him than to you. 

“He’s not gonna hurt you either.” He turns back to you and holds out his hand, a charming smile playing at his lips. “Let’s start this over again. I’m Negan.” 

You didn’t shake his hand, but you did lower the knife. Eyeing him carefully, you told him your name. Negan’s smile only got bigger. He repeats your name back to you, saying it like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. 

“Nice to fucking meet you, sweetheart.” He says, settling down into the seat on the other side of the aisle. 

“I’m Brandon.” 

Again, both you and Negan looked towards the interruption who was now sitting on the seat in front of you. 

“Hi.” You nod, contemplating making a run for it while the aisle was still open. 

“Got a group?” Brandon asks, hanging over the back of the seat as he stared at you.

Negan responded before you could even start thinking of an answer. “Jesus Christ kid, can cool your shit for a second? She almost fucking died two minutes ago.”

“I was just asking a question.” Brandon says defensively. 

“Uh,” You cut in, your head spinning slightly. “Thanks for, um, before, but I really should–I think I need to to get some air.” 

You stand, and Negan stands too. For a second you think he might grab you or hit you or try to keep you from leaving. But he doesn’t. If you’d been able to focus on his face you might have seen the concern in his expression, but once you know they won’t stop you, you’re gone. 

Being outside, being on your feet helped get your head back on straight. You walked a few yards away from the bus, taking deep breaths. You stop at a rusted out pickup truck, hopping up to sit on the edge of the flatbed. 

You know you should keep going, keep running, put some distance between you and the two guys on the bus before  _ that _ inevitably goes wrong. But you need a moment. Just a moment to rest and think and figure out your next move. 

You pull your backpack off, moving it into your lap as you open it up for a quick inventory. One water bottle, about three quarters of the way full. The empty one got crushed beyond recovery by the fall in the bus. You toss it into the flatbed behind you. A roll of bandages, an oversized flannel for warmth, and a map. 

You glance at the abandoned building beyond the bus. It could be a viable place to spend the night, if you could get a room cleared and barricade the door for a while. The idea of a few hours of safety, of a few hours of sleep, is undeniably tempting. 

But Negan and Brandon are still around somewhere. They might not want you dead, but that can always change. And there’s plenty of truly horrible shit they could do to you alive. You’re well aware of that. 

You shiver. The phantom touch of  _ his _ hands grabbing your arm, the remembered feeling of  _ his  _ weight shoving against you, and the sight of  _ his  _ blood on your hands and  _ his _ body on the ground whispering and prodding at the back of your mind. You push it away. That’s all behind you now. You escaped. You survived. 

And now you have to keep moving. 

You open up the map, looking for somewhere nearby you might be able to scavenge some food  _ and _ find a place to get some sleep. There’s a condo complex maybe two miles to the south that could prove worth it. 

Looking up at the sky, you estimate you’ve got just a few hours before sundown. No time to lose. 

Only as you stand, you get immediately dizzy, your head light and your vision swimming. You sit back down heavily, bringing a hand to your forehead. You really need food. And sleep. But probably food more. 

“Heads up.” 

You lower your hand just in time to see the granola bar sailing through the air. You fumble the catch a bit, managing to clutch it against your chest before it could hit the ground. Looking up, you see Negan standing in front of you, that charming smile back on his face. You give him a questioning look, holding the granola bar in your hand. 

“Please, sweetheart. I’ve been in this shit long enough to know what tired and hungry looks like.” He says, walking – no, swaggering – over and dropping down onto the truck beside you. 

You look at him warily, turning the plastic-wrapped package over in your hands for a moment. It probably isn’t poisoned. He’d have to have some serious skill to rewrap the thing if it was. And you’re really fucking hungry. 

As you unwrap it and try not to devour the whole thing in one bite, Negan lets out a sigh, leaning back with his palms resting against the flatbed. 

“So,” He drawls, “What shit are you running from that’s so bad you thought it would be a good fucking idea to get on that bus by yourself?” 

You stiffen, glancing at Negan to find him watching you carefully out of the corner of his eyes. He’s no idiot, that you know for sure. And you have the distinct feeling he’d be able to tell if you lied to him. 

“What’s it matter to you?” 

He shrugs, looking back out at the overgrown lot in front of you. “Just curious, I guess. It’s not every day I meet new people.” 

“Me neither.” You admit, finishing the bar and crumpling the wrapper. “It’s just you and your kid?” 

“He’s not my kid.” Negan says, his voice angrier than you’d expected. 

“Okay, sorry.” 

He looks at you, expression softening slightly as if realizing what he’d said. “No. He’s just a little shit, is all. Don’t want you thinking I had anything to do with making him.” 

“Well, confusion avoided then.” 

A beat of silence passes. It’s not uncomfortable. If anything, you’re uncomfortable with how comfortable you feel. You know nothing but his name and that Brandon isn’t his son. He also saved your life. 

“Thank you, by the way.” You speak up, making him look at you again. “For the granola bar and for saving my life.”

He beams at that, puffing out his chest ever so slightly. “Your fucking welcome, sweetheart.” 

You can’t help the small smile that lifts the corners of your mouth. There’s something weird about how Pavlovian your response to his expression is. His smile just makes you want to smile too. You’re not sure how you feel about that.

“Listen, I don’t know shit about you, but you seem like somebody who’s made it this far because you got whatever fucking special sauce it is that keeps us going in this shithole of a world.” Negan says, “There’s a place not too far from here, a community. They’d take you in.” 

“Is that where you’re from?” 

“I–” He shuts his mouth, rethinking his answer. “Yeah. But not anymore.” 

“I’m looking for a community anymore, either.” You answer, “But thanks.”

Negan studies you, clearly wanting to know the story behind your words. You shifted, getting the strange sense that if he stared at you long enough, he’d figure it out on his own. Better to leave before that happens. 

“Well, uh,” You say, hopping off the truck more steadily this time, “I should really head out before it gets dark.” 

“Woah, wait just a fucking minute, there.” He followed, “It’s too dangerous for you to be going out alone.” 

“It’s dangerous everywhere,” You say, slightly miffed. “And I’ve been fine so far.” 

“That’s some shitty memory you have there, sunshine, do you remember how not fucking fine you were when we met?” 

“Look, I appreciate what you did back there, but it was a lapse in judgement based on hunger and sleep deprivation. I can handle the dead ones fine on my own.” 

You start to turn away again, but Negan reaches for your arm. You flinched away instinctively, Negan’s hand changing momentarily into  _ his _ hand. You look up at him in fear, heart racing. Negan clearly notices the reaction, but he doesn’t say anything. He just lowers his hand.

“It’s not just dead ones out there anymore, sweetheart. Fucking trust me on that.” Negan sighs and you’re about to ask him what he means when he goes on, “Just–stay here for the night, alright? Catch up on that sleep you’re so clearly fucking missing and then leave in the morning.” 

“Why do you care?” 

Negan seems surprised at the question, like he hadn’t even considered how abnormal the whole situation is. 

“Look, sweetheart,” He answers smoothly, “I put a shit ton of effort into saving your ass, so forgive me for not wanting all my fucking work to go to waste when one of those corpses eats your pretty face.” 

You look out at the woods beyond the ruined lot, chewing on your lip as you consider your options. Anything can happen out there at any time and your chances are definitely a million times worse if you can’t stay awake to handle it. 

“Fine,” You face Negan again. “One night, and then you don’t have to worry about my pretty face anymore.” 

He hits you with another megawatt smile, leaning to the side and pumping his arm in a sort of lazy victory gesture. 

“I’ll go get some goddamn firewood, then. Meet you back at the bus.” Negan saunters past you towards the trees, brushing his arm against your shoulder. “Get ready for the best fucking bonfire you’ve ever been to, sweetheart.” 

You turn back towards the bus, a small – still involuntary – smile on your face. There’s a strange feeling in your chest, one that you haven’t felt in a long time: calm. For weeks, even months, you’ve been on-edge. Even at the Grove, you were always looking over your shoulder, watching out for  _ him _ . 

You don’t know if you can trust Negan. You’re not even sure if you like him. But for now, you know you can rest. At least for a moment. 

You sit on the steps of the bus, the map open across your lap as you look for where you’re heading next. Long-term, it’s probably a good idea to get out of Virginia. You want to put as much distance between you and the Grove as you can. 

Movement around the front of the bus catches your attention. You stand, hand going to the hilt of your knife as a figure emerges from in front of the chassey. 

“Brandon,” You breathe, your hand dropping. “Jesus, I thought you were one of the undead.” 

“My bad,” He laughed nervously, gaze flicking around at the empty lot. “You seen Negan?” 

“He’s getting firewood. He’ll be back soon.” You say, turning back to where you’d left the map. “Hey, do you know where–” 

Before you can finish the question, your body slams against the side of the bus. Instinctively, you raise your hands to protect yourself, softening the blow enough to keep your skull from cracking open. Still, your head hits the metal hard, making your vision go black for a second. 

A weight descends upon you, pressing you hard against the pavement. Brandon’s face wavers above you, his eyes wild as his hands close around your throat. You try to fight back, but it feels like you’re underwater– your ears ringing and your movements slow. You’re reaching for your knife, but you can’t seem to grip it. Bringing your hands up to your neck, you try to pull his fingers away, but Brandon holds tight. 

You can feel your life slipping away from you, seeping out of your body. Your hands slip away from Brandon’s, your vision beginning to go fuzzy at the edges. You never expected it to feel this way, the end, with so much confusion and pain and surprise– for it to be completely out of your control. 

All of a sudden, Brandon is gone. 

You suck in a breath, the air burning your throat. Rolling onto your side, you cough and choke, your head hurting more than anything. You blink, trying to make out blurry shapes around you. 

One of them looks like Negan, standing over Brandon’s still body. You roll onto your back again, blinking up at the sky. You aren’t sure, but you think you can hear someone calling your name. 

And then the sunlight fades into darkness. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins!

Everything hurts. Well, not everything. But practically everything– your muscles and bones and ligaments are all heavy and aching. 

Especially your head. 

Pulling yourself out of unconsciousness is like trying to drag a three hundred pound weight up a mountain. Somehow, you manage it, blinking your heavy eyelids open. Your mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls and when you try to swallow, it feels like someone is stabbing you in the throat. You let out an involuntary whimper, shifting against the pain. 

“It’s about goddamn time.” A voice says, “Rise and fucking shine, sweetheart.”

You sit up with no small amount of effort, leaning on your forearms as you look towards the sound. Negan leans against a wall a few feet away from you, a baseball bat dangling lazily from his hand. It’s got barbed wire wrapped around the top, the wood stained red even though it seems clean. 

“You shoulda seen the original,” Negan muses, lifting the bat to rest on his shoulder as he sauntered closer. “This is nothing compared to Lucille, but that little shithead didn’t do a bad job, all things fucking considered.”

“Lucille?” The word sounds like it went through a wood chipper before coming out of your mouth.

You wince, bringing your hand up to your throat. Before you can touch your skin, Negan’s hand is on your wrist. 

“Don’t touch it,” He warns, “Or that shit’s just gonna hurt even more.” 

Negan notices the wide-eyed look on your face, the uncertainty bordering on fear that his grip is causing. He lets go, but continues to eye you carefully as he stands up straight, like he’s trying to figure out your story. 

You decide to deflect. Negan doesn’t need to know about  _ him _ . 

“How long was I out?” You rasp. 

“Two days.” 

“Two days? Are you fucking–” You stop short, your outburst turning into an agonizing cough. 

“No, I’m not fucking. Although if you’re offering, sweetheart, I wouldn’t say no.” Negan smiled, inspecting his bat for a moment before lowering to his side again. “Two days, sweetheart. Honestly, I was starting to think you’d be better company if you’d died. At least then you’d fucking move a little.” 

“Where–” You start, finally taking in the room around you. It’s pretty bare, just some peeling paint and a door and two backpacks leaning against the wall– one of them is yours. The other looks like the one Brandon had been carrying. 

“Sweetheart, if you ever want that pretty neck of yours to heal, you should really shut the fuck up.” Negan interrupts. “The building behind the bus. Carried you in here and patched you up. You’re fucking welcome for that shit, by the way.”

Calming down, you slowly shift so you’re leaning against the wall at your back. The wall is cold against your skin. It feels nice. Negan watches you carefully, his expression nonchalant but you can see concern in his eyes. 

You have no idea why he’s here. Sure, he’d saved your life (twice now), but staying with an unconscious stranger for two days was just asking for trouble. Did he have to clear walkers out before carrying you in here? Did he have to fight more off while you were asleep? Had he even slept since it all happened? The risks outweigh the rewards so much the scale is basically broken at this point. 

You have no idea why he did it, but it’s the only reason you’re still breathing. And for that, you’re grateful. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, the quiet tone not hurting your voice as much. “Really.” 

Negan holds your gaze, the muscles in his jaw ticking like he’s chewing on his words, rolling them around in consideration. Finally, a signature smile slid across his face. 

“The one upside to your fucking cat nap was that I figured out where we’re going next.” He says, pulling your map out of his back pocket. “There’s a car out there that is just un-shitty enough to drive. Now that you’re up, we’re gonna get fuck outta dodge before shit goes even more sideways. And trust me, it will.” 

You open your mouth to protest his assumption that “we” would be going anywhere, but he continues right on talking with the confidence of a man who’s accustomed to setting the agenda and not being questioned on it. 

“We’ll head northeast,” He says, tucking the map back into your backpack and zipping it shut before tossing it towards you. “I know a few places in Maryland that might not be complete shitholes, and even if they are, anything is better than Ale–than here. I want to put a good fucking distance between us and here by the time the sun goes down, so start getting your ass ready to go.” 

“No.” 

Negan stills. “What the  _ fuck _ did you just say?” 

He swings around on a tilted axis, facing you. There’s something perpetually off-kilter about his movements, a shoulder tilted, a knee bent. He moves with a fluid swagger that up until now has been confident, at-ease. Now, it’s scary. Like his mind is just as unbalanced as his physicality. Like he could lazily swing the bat at your head and kill you just as easily as he could tilt his head back and laugh. But based on the look he’s fixing you with, one that makes you want to shrink into yourself, you don’t think it’s going to be the latter. 

Still, you hold your ground, using the wall to support you as you get shakily to your feet. You meet his fiery gaze, holding your chin high as he stalks closer, forcing you to look up at him. 

“I asked you a fucking question, sweetheart.” The words rumble like a threat, his body caging you in against the wall. 

“I said no.” 

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the fucking doubt here and assume it’s just your head wound clouding your fucking judgement here, sweetheart,” He moved away suddenly, pacing away from you as the bat comes down from his shoulder. “Because there’s no way you’re that fucking stupid to question  _ my _ fucking plan after I saved  _ your _ fucking life.

“Not to goddamn  _ mention _ the fact that you can’t even stand on your own two fucking legs.” He points the end of the bat at you and it’s all you can do not to flatten yourself against the wall. Then he’s moving back in, leaning forward and getting in your face. “Do you have any goddamn idea what I could do to you? Hell, I’ve done more for fucking less.” 

“Kill me, if that’s what you want.” He quiets as your hand raises slowly, hovering in the small space left between your bodies. “But you won’t get to hear me explain why I said no.” 

Negan sets his jaw, leaning back a fraction of an inch. “Fucking enlighten me, then, sweetheart.” 

“It’s a stupid plan.” 

His shoulders immediately tense, anger flashing behind his eyes again. You press your hand to his chest, stopping the blow-out before it can start. 

“Just listen for a second.” You rasp. “We should go northwest. Rural is better– less people, less walkers.” 

“Less civilization, less shit to scavenge.” Negan argues. 

You shake your head. “More farmland. Long-term, it’s better. More reliable, more sustainable.” 

His gaze shifts away from your face, unfocusing as he considers your argument. 

“Go to Maryland if you want. I’m heading northwest.” You say. 

Negan pulls away, pacing back across the room. You watch, not entirely sure he won’t swing back around and make good on his threat. 

“Shit.  _ Fuck. _ ” He mutters to himself before looking back at you. “Fine. Just– fucking just get your shit and be outside in five minutes.” 

With the other bag slung over one shoulder and his bat resting on the other, he’s out the door before you can say anything else. Like he’d sucked all the air out of the room, you let out a shaking exhale, slumping back against the wall. 

If you’re really going to do this, you’ll need the whole five minutes to pull yourself together. 

~

You wish Brandon had tried to strangle Negan. Not that you want him dead– well, you’re not sure of that yet, but you wish his throat hurt as much as yours does. Maybe then he’d  _ shut up _ for half a second. 

The one advantage to the severe bruising around your neck is that Negan doesn’t seem to expect you to respond to any of the stuff he says, so you can just zone out and watch the ruins of Virginia pass out the passenger-side window. After a couple of hours on the road, you’re starting to realize he isn’t even talking to you. Negan just likes the sound of his own voice. 

And truthfully, you don’t really mind it that much, either. Once you’d stopped hearing the actual words – musings on the merits of sports movies, complaints about the unfortunate abundance of canned pasta in the apocalypse, and a whole slew of other randomness – you found you liked the sound of his voice. Negan had a deep, slightly scratchy drawl. He spoke with humor and authority. It was oddly comforting. 

The sun is dipping below the horizon, sending shafts of golden light through the car windows. You glance at Negan, studying his profile as he looks ahead at the road. There’s a hint of a smirk on his lips as he speaks, just another marker of the ego you’re learning is bigger than his body. He reminds you of one of those guys in high school who dominated the room just as much as they dominated the athletic department. One of those guys who all the teachers  _ knew _ was a jerk, but let his charisma work its magic on them anyway. One of those guys who was so sure of himself you both hated him and wanted to be near him at the same time. 

The sound of your name, rolling off Negan’s tongue like something sweet, brings you out of your thoughts. 

He turns his head, smiling in a way that makes your stomach flip, like he’d just caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to do. 

“What?” 

“Fucking hell, sweetheart, I thought you might’ve been slipping into another goddamn coma.” He looks back at the road, slowing the car and pulling off to the side. “Said we’re taking a break for the night. I can do plenty of cool shit, but sleep-driving is one I have yet to master, sorry to fucking say.” 

“I’ll drive.” 

“No fucking way, baby.” Negan pulls the lever to recline his seat, reclining with his hands behind his head. “Avoiding those bastards is hard enough in daylight. You think I’m gonna let you behind the wheel after dark  _ with _ a fucking concussion. Absolutely fucking not.” 

“Fine.” You cross your arms, looking out the windshield. “But I’m taking first watch.” 

“Yes you goddamn are, Miss Two Day Nap.” 

You ignore him, deciding it’s better to stop arguing so he’ll just go to sleep. At least then you’ll have a little peace and quiet. 

Negan falls asleep surprisingly quickly. His head lolls to the side, his mouth slightly open. He doesn’t snore, but you can hear the soft rise and fall of his breath. 

Although maybe it’s not that surprising. You still don’t know if he’s slept at all since Brandon attacked you. From the looks of him now, he probably didn’t. 

That’s a strange image– Negan, all crude language and self-obsessed, watching over you while you slept. You touch the bandage on your head, covering the gash you’d gotten from hitting the bus, another strange thought entering your mind– Negan holding your head, carefully bandaging your wound. 

You don’t know him that well – hell, you don’t even know him – but he doesn’t fit in those scenarios. He seems more likely to haphazardly slap a bandaid on your bleeding head wound, let the back of your head thunk to the floor, and then swagger off somewhere like a drunk pirate. 

You huff out a soft laugh at that thought. But when you glance back down at the dark outline of Negan’s sleeping form in the moonlight, your smile fades into a look of contemplation. 

Because he didn’t do that. Your wounds have been carefully looked after, more carefully than you would have been able to handle by yourself, anyway. And he stayed. He stayed in that little room with you for two days, even though he had no reason to believe you wouldn’t die and then try to eat him. He stuck it out, and now you’re heading off together. 

For what? 

You have no idea what awaits you beyond Virginia. You just know you can’t go back to what’s behind you. What exactly is Negan’s game plan? He doesn’t seem like the type to settle into a community and play by anyone’s rules but his own. He also doesn’t strike you as the type to settle down in the middle of a field and become a farmer. 

But then, you’re not sure if that’s what you want either. You’re not even sure if you want to be in this car, getting mixed up with this unbalanced man and his scary fucking baseball bat. 

You look out the window again. What if you got out of the car right now, if you grabbed your backpack and just disappeared into the woods beyond the road? Would Negan go after you? If he did, then he was  _ actually  _ crazy. No, he was more likely to wake up, curse you out, and then drive on to Maryland. 

And you’d be alone again. 

That thought sends a mix of emotions swirling in your stomach. You don’t have time to unpack them, though, because you can see the all-too familiar silhouettes of the undead.

You make out four, shuffling out of the woods towards your car. They aren’t a lot, but if they realize you’re food and start banging up against the car, they’ll definitely draw more. And you like your chances against these four much more than your chances against a whole herd of them. Not wanting to waste any more time, you pull your knife from your belt and slip out of the car. 

Rushing the first one, you sink your knife into its head with ease, the body dropping to the ground. You pivot to face the second, turning slightly too fast and making yourself dizzy. You manage to shake off the disorientation in time to shove your knife up through its chin. 

Your head is pounding now, the road beginning to move in front of you. You blink hard, taking a quick breath as the undead lurches forward, yellow eyes reflecting the moonlight. Your knife finds its temple. Just as you pull the blade out, the last one lunges for you. 

You’re caught off guard, your knife knocked out of your hand as you block the undead with your arms. It snarls, jaw snapping hungrily mere inches from your face. You lean your head back while simultaneously trying to push it away from you. 

An echoing crack fills the night air, the undead’s head suddenly exploding. Blood splatters across your face, neck, and chest as its body crumples to the ground, revealing Negan. His bat hangs by his side, coated in blood and brain matter. His chest heaves and his eyes are bright, even in the darkness. 

“What the  _ fuck _ was that?” 

“I was taking care of–” 

Negan surges forward, invading your space as his eyes roam your face wildly. “Why the fucking fuck didn’t you wake me up?” 

You interrupted, irritation prickling at the back of your neck. “I was handling it fine on my own.” 

“That’s a funny fucking definition of fine you have there sweetheart.” 

“I didn’t ask for your help!” Your throat burned as you raised your voice, but you were too angry to care. 

“Oh,” Negan let out a humorless laugh, “I am  _ so  _ fucking sorry I didn’t leave you to fucking  _ die _ .” 

“Fuck you.” You jab a finger into his chest, getting as much in his face as you can. “I didn’t ask you to stick around. I didn’t ask you to go anywhere with me. That was all you. It’s not my fault you have this insane  _ savior complex _ , okay?” 

Negan goes quiet. And frankly, it’s more terrifying than when he’d been threatening you with the bat. He sets his jaw, a mix of anger and frustration and something that looks almost like regret behind his eyes. You’ve struck a nerve. 

“Look,” You lower your voice, “there will be more of them coming. We can’t stay here. Let’s– let’s just get out here and talk about this somewhere else.” 

Negan doesn’t say anything, which makes unease settle in your stomach, but he does follow you back to the car. You both sit in complete silence, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as you put a couple more miles between you and your fight. 

You look down at your hands, feeling the tension hang around you like a wet blanket. This is make or break for  _ whatever _ this is between you and Negan. The end of the line or the beginning of something new. 

Feeling antsy, you pull your extra shirt from the backpack at your feet and pour a little water from your bottle over it. You try to clean the blood off of your face and neck, but the second you touch your throat you hiss in pain. 

Negan pumps the brakes, pulling off to the side and putting the car in park. He turns in his seat, holding out his hand. 

“Let me do that shit.” 

You hesitate, watching him carefully. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart,” He says, exasperated. “Jesus fucking Christ, when are you going to understand that shit?” 

You hand him the shirt, sitting completely still as he begins dabbing the fabric gently against your skin. The bruises are still tender, and it hurts, but he’s being as gentle as he can. 

You look anywhere but at his face, your gaze flicking from the shoulder of his leather jacket to the window behind him to the salt and pepper scruff of his beard. 

“I was in a community,” You whisper. “Before you found me. A place in North Carolina called the Grove.” 

Negan stops, lowering his hand from your neck slowly, like he’s trying not to spook you.

“A group of their people found me and took me in. But their leader,” You swallowed, unable to say  _ his  _ name out loud. “He...took an interest in me. He was always making excuses to have me come visit him, to stand next to me, to–to touch me.” 

You don’t look at Negan’s face. Instead, you watch as his hand squeezes into a fist, crushing your shirt. 

“He never did anything more than that for a long time. I’d avoid him as much as I could for years. But,” You take a shaking breath, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to block the memories. “One night he cornered me at the edge of the community. He...he pushed me up against the wall and tried to–to rape me. But I fought back, and I–I killed him. I didn’t really mean to. I just…” 

Your voice peters out, the words turning into a scratchy whisper. Negan let your shirt drop into his lap. 

“Yeah,” He says quietly. “I got it.”

Negan sets his hands back on the steering wheel, staring out at the darkness beyond the car.

“Lucille was my wife.” Negan finally says, “She, uh, she died, right at the beginning of all this shit. She’d been sick. Afterwards, when I had my first bat, I named it after her. Seemed fitting, being my closest companion and all that shit. Anyways, I ended up in charge of this place. The Sanctuary. Had people working, families, kids, fighters. The people who protected it, my men, we called ourselves the Saviors.” 

“What happened to it?” 

“Fucking hard as it may be to believe, I wasn’t the most  _ benevolent _ leader who ever lived.” He works his jaw, letting out a huff of laughter. “One piece came loose and decided to fucking rebel, and it all fell apart. And then that goddamn  _ piece _ put me in a cell for nine fucking years.” 

Your eyes widen. “They imprisoned you?” 

“Yup.” He pops the p, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. 

“That’s awful.” 

Negan turns his head sharply to look at you. He stared at you with an expression you hadn’t yet seen on his face– surprise. 

“To be locked up like that, for that long…” You sigh, shaking your head. “If I were you I would have preferred if they just killed me.” 

“Jesus fuck,” Negan actually laughs, “Maybe I should have left you to die.” 

“Would have saved you a lot of trouble.” You agree, smiling at him. 

“Yeah,” He says, starting the car up again. “It would have.” 

But then he glances at you, smirking, and you know he’s not going anywhere. And, as you instinctively smile back, you realize neither are you. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...and I couldn't wait to post the new chapter :D

“Oh, you are one  _ ugly _ son of a bitch!” 

Facing off against two undead monsters of your own, you don’t bother to turn around and look at whatever gorey mess of a corpse Negan is talking to. As you lunge for the closest one, a small smile quirks at the side of your lips. The crass commentary doesn’t necessarily help Negan fight, but you’ve come to expect it over the past few weeks. And, truthfully, it makes killing the disgusting things a little more entertaining. 

As your knife plunges into the undead’s skull, you hear the crack of Negan’s bat behind you. Clearly Mr. Ugly didn’t stand much of a chance. 

Falling back, you feel Negan at your back. It’s instinctual at his point, moving back to back and sticking close as you fight. 

The second one shuffles closer, rotting fingers reaching for you. You kick at the undead, your boot hitting its chest and sending it to the ground. You stoop to finish it off, driving your blade through its brain. 

Unfortunately, you’re distracted just long enough that you don’t see the third undead until it’s on you, knocking you to the pavement. 

You manage to get your arms up, pushing back and keeping its teeth from sinking into your skin. But just barely. You strain, the hot stench of the undead’s breath washing over your face as its jaws snap mere centimeters from your nose. 

And then its head explodes, a resounding  _ crack  _ echoing through the air. The body goes limp on top of you, brain matter splattered all over you. Shoving the corpse off, you wipe the blood away from your eyes. 

Negan stands above you, bat resting on his shoulder, a lopsided grin on his face. 

“We have to stop meeting this way.” You say wryly. 

He holds out his free hand for you. You take it, letting him help you to your feet.

“I dunno, sweetheart, I kinda like it.” He muses, suddenly tugging you so you’re up against his chest, looking up at him. “Feeds my fucking ‘savior complex.’” 

Shoving him playfully away, you roll your eyes. You turn away, collecting your knife from where it had fallen. Your heart is beating faster than before, and it’s not because of the fight. You take a breath, sliding your knife back into the sheath at your hip.

Negan surveys the bodies on the ground, letting out a low whistle. “Some shitty welcome party that was.” 

You tilt your head, straightening the straps on your backpack. “What?” 

Negan lifts the bat, pointing it at something over your shoulder. Turning, you catch sight of the grimey, slightly lopsided road sign. 

_ Welcome to Pennsylvania, the Keystone State. _

“Holy shit.” A breathless laugh leaves your lips as you turn back to Negan with a giddy smile. “We made it.” 

You’re a long way away from the bus and that god forsaken abandoned lot. After weeks of traveling, first by car and then by foot, through the woods and over the roads, stopping in rundown houses and decrepit malls, after injuries and fights and sleepless nights, you’ve finally made it. 

“Yes we fucking did.” Negan agrees, watching you with a smile. 

Pennsylvania won’t guarantee anything. Crossing over the border doesn’t mean you’re suddenly safe. It doesn’t mean anything other than accomplishing a goal. But right now that’s enough to make you happier than you’ve been in a long time. You feel like you’ve just lost ten pounds and you can’t stop smiling. 

“Well?” You say, grabbing Negan by the arm and pulling him with you over the state line. “Let’s go.” 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” He chuckles, “I think this is the most excited anyone’s been about Pennsylvania. And I’m including the time when over half the population was still fucking alive.”

You say, letting go of his arm and coming to a stop. “Like you’re not excited too.” 

“I’m always  _ excited _ when I’m around you, sweetheart.”

You ignore the insinuation, and try to ignore the flutter it causes in your stomach, opening up your map. The two of you plan to head northeast, towards some farmland and a few small towns that might prove fruitful. 

But after you close the map, you veer west, towards the woods. 

“Where the hell are you going?” 

“I just saw a rest stop!” You call over your shoulder. 

Negan jogs to catch up with you, walking with you through the trees. You walk for a few minutes before the two of you break through into a clearing, a lake stretching ahead of you. Negan stands by the treeline, taking it in as you head straight to the water’s edge. You splash your hand in the water a few times, sending ripples across the surface, before stepping back. 

“The hell was that?” Negan asks, sauntering over to stand beside you. 

“There could be undead under the water.” 

You wait a moment longer before your impatience gets the better of you. Your backpack drops into the rocky sand, followed quickly by your shirt and pants. 

“Okay what the fuck,” Negan stares at you, eyes raking over your nearly bare body. “Did you hit your head again or some shit?” 

“Nope.” You pop the p, imitating the way he does it. “I’m just happy. And covered in blood.” 

Wasting no more time, you wade into the lake a few steps before sucking in a breath and diving. The water washes over you, cool and refreshing. You can’t remember the last time you’d gone swimming. Hell, you can’t even remember your last shower. 

You resurface, pushing your wet hair out of your face. Negan is still standing on the shore, staring at you. 

“The water’s lovely.” You set your hands on your hips, smiling. “You coming in, or what?”

“Fucking hell,” Negan shakes his head, starting to strip off his clothes. “Don’t have to ask me twice.” 

You drop back down into the water, floating on your back and staring up at the sky. Clouds float across the blue backdrop, white wisps blowing slowly overhead. You hear a slight splash as Negan gets into the water. 

“Remind me to cover you in blood more often,” Negan says, swimming over to you. “If I knew it would get you wet, I would be doing that shit much more often.” 

You sit up, finding a familiar suggestive glint in his eye. 

“It’s cute that you think I need your help getting wet.” 

Feeling bold you cup a bit of water in your palm and pour it over your chest. His eyes immediately track the drops as they run down between your breasts and back into the lake. When Negan’s gaze meets yours, the mischief is gone. It’s been replaced by something darker, a look that makes your skin tingle with anticipation. 

“Never hurts to ask for a little help, though, don’t you think?” His voice is pitched lower than before, the sound resonating deep in your belly. 

His hands curl around your hip, pulling you towards him. Your hands settle on his chest, your right palm resting over the tattoo above his left pectoral. 

“I’m a helpful fucking guy when I want to be,” He murmurs, his head duckling so his nose barely brushes against yours as his gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips. 

You want to kiss him. You’ve been thinking about it for weeks. The flirting has been going on for a while now, and as harmless as it was when it started, you’re having trouble letting it go as nothing more than banter. 

Because the man is  _ devastating _ . 

He has this goddamn ability to make you do things you don’t even realize you want to do. When he smiles, you smile. When he flirts, you flirt back with a confidence you’d forgotten you had. When he touches you, your stomach flips and you have to fight off the desire to kiss him. 

You’ve wrestled with this over and over again. Because as much as you want it, you shouldn’t cross that line. This thing you have, it can’t become any more than a partnership. 

Of course, you care about Negan. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. But giving into your attraction to him is a slippery slope to becoming more attached than you want to be. Anything can happen out here, and you can’t let your feelings make you weak. 

Before you can swing back the other way and give in, you splash Negan in the face. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” He bellows. 

You swim away, smirking as he glares at you. “You had some blood on your face. I was helping.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” He laughs darkly, working his jaw. “You have no  _ idea _ how deep the shit is that you are in right now.” 

He stares at you, looming closer through the water like a predator stalking its prey. You bite your lip, a nervous flutter in your stomach. 

You make a break for it, diving to the side with a splash. You don’t get far before he has a hand on your leg and an arm wrapping around your waist. 

If he’d tried that weeks ago, you would have killed him. But now you were familiar with his touch, you trust Negan not to hurt you like  _ he _ did. 

Still, you yelp in surprise, struggling playfully in Negan’s grip. He hoists you up in the air and tosses you back into the lake. You’re laughing as you resurface, but the smile quickly dies when you look at Negan. 

His hands are above the water, palms up in surrender and his expression grim. Your stomach drops at the sound of a gun cocking from the side of the lake. Behind Negan, three men stand in an arc at the edge of the water, rifles trained on you. 

“Hands where we can see ‘em.” One of them shouts. “Walk out of the water. Slowly.” 

Fear settles like a rock in the pit of your stomach as you raise your hands. Before turning around, Negan catches your eye, his expression deadly serious.

“Stay behind me.”

“You two deaf? I said walk out of the water. Now.” 

As Negan turns, you can see anger flashing in his eyes and his jaw clenching. “We heard you, asshole.” 

“Negan,” you whisper, “Take it easy.” 

Your mind reels, running all the possible ways this situation might play out. None of them end the way you want them to. Taking measured, careful steps through the water, you try to keep your breathing calm, try to manage your fight or flight instinct. 

The men spread out enough along the shore so you two will have space to stand. You shiver as you step onto the rocky beach, partly from the air and partly from fear. One of them has your knife, another is holding Negan’s bat. The third man, the one who’s been doing all the talking, tosses your clothes toward you, the balled-up bundle hitting the sand. 

“Get dressed.” He orders, gun still trained on you. “No sudden moves.” 

“What’s the game plan here?” You speak up, pulling your clothes over your still wet underwear. “If you want supplies, we don’t have much.” 

“Stop talking.” The man steps forward, grabbing your arm and wrenching it behind your back, the barrel of his gun pressed to the back of your neck. 

You try to stay strong, to keep steely and unaffected, but you flinch. Because for just a moment, you’re back at the Grove and  _ he’s  _ pushing you up against the wall. 

“Don’t fucking touch her.” Negan’s voice is low, nearing a growl. If you didn’t know he was on your side, you’d be terrified. 

“Restrain him.” The man behind you says and the other two grab for Negan’s arms. 

He struggles against them but when you hear the safety click on the gun at your head, he stops. They zip tie his wrists behind his back and then one of them comes to do the same to you. The third man lets go of you then, shoving you roughly back towards Negan. 

“Start walking.” 

You follow his order, walking towards the treeline. The other two flank you, carrying your stuff and penning you in. Although he appears calm, you can feel the anger radiating off of Negan. 

“Seriously, what the fuck is your plan–” 

Negan stiffens as the gun is pressed to the small of his back. Your stomach plummets, eyes wide with fear. You look at him, begging him with your eyes to stop arguing– to play along until the two of you have an opening. 

“Shut up and keep walking.” The third man orders. “Or I’ll kill you both.” 

They march you through the woods, back to the road. Hidden along the side, maybe half a mile past the border, is a truck. One of the men tries to haul you into the back but you pull your arm away and get up by yourself. Negan follows, sitting next to you while the third man climbs up after you, sitting across from you with his gun still focused on you. 

The other two climb into the cab. The third man thumps on the window with his elbow and the engine starts, the truck pulling away with a lurch. 

Negan’s shoulder bumps into yours but he doesn’t shift away. You look up at him, all your trepidation and uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. 

So much for your good mood. 

~

You drive for nearly an hour, finally pulling to a stop outside a gate. It’s an old college campus, the golden arch with the name still intact above the enforced entrance. Stretching out to either side are tall walls, sentries standing at the top. 

The third man waves to them and the gates open. You drive through what used to be a quad, people walking around and going about their business. Men and women are running combat training exercises in one section of lawn, children are sitting in a circle in another while a woman reads a book aloud to them. People turn to stare as you pass, looking on with curiosity and interest, but not hostility or anger. 

You can feel Negan relax slightly beside you. You know you should, too. It’s a community that seems to be flourishing– plenty of people, plenty of smiles, plenty of plenty. These men could have shot you both on sight, but they didn’t. Instead, they’d brought you here. 

But the Grove had been like that. On the surface it was a strong group full of strong people who were not just surviving anymore, a paradise in the apocalypse. Under the surface, it was home to a monster. It was the site of your worst nightmare. 

So as the truck pulls to a stop outside one of the college buildings– Lyman Hall, you’re feeling more tense, rather than less. 

The three men lead you inside, making you both sit in a waiting room area. The silent two stay with you, guns still in hand even if they’re not pointed straight at you anymore. The third man knocks on a door at the edge of the room. You hear a muffled voice respond from inside. 

He opens the door and steps inside. “Newcomers at the border, ma’am.”

“Bring them to me,” A calm, authoritative voice responds. 

You stand before one of the men can pull you to your feet, jaw set as you try to keep calm. Negan’s arm brushes yours, making you glance at him. 

“Showtime, sweetheart.” He shoots you a cocky smile, automatically sending a small spark of reassurance through you.

You walk into the office first, your gaze falling onto a woman sitting behind an ornate desk. She looks older than you, probably somewhere close to Negan’s age. Her grey streaked hair is pulled tightly back out of her face in a french braid, matching the harsh discerning look in her eyes as she sizes you up. 

As her gaze moves to Negan, you see her eyes widen in something that looks close to shock. She recovers quickly, cutting her gaze between the two of you standing in front of her desk before turning to the third man. 

“Why are they still restrained? That’s no way to treat our new guests.” 

“It’s standard procedure ma’am, you–” 

“Untie them, Andrews. Now.” She says, eyes narrowed. 

The third man, Andrews, doesn’t argue. He moves forward immediately, cutting both you and Negan free from the zip ties. You bring your arms up, rubbing at your wrists where the plastic had pressed into your skin. 

“Leave us.” The woman says. 

Andrews stutters, “But ma’am–” 

“Leave us, please, Andrews.” She waves her hand, waiting for the click of the door before turning back to you with a measured smile. “Please, sit.” 

You glance at Negan, but he just shrugs and sits down in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Stiffly, you do the same, perching on the edge in case you need to bolt at any moment. 

“I apologize for the rough introduction, Andrews is a stickler for procedure. It gets in the way of his manners.” The woman says, “My name is Ingrid. What are your names?”

“Negan.” He offers, eyeing the woman carefully. “Have we met before? I swear to fucking God you look familiar.”

“I think I’d remember you if we had.” She smiles, her eyes tracking across his body before tilting her head at you. “And your wife?” 

“I’m not his wife.” You say through gritted teeth, not liking the way she’s watching him. “And my name is Y/N.” 

“Sorry, my mistake.” Ingrid says, before focusing back on Negan. “I’m the leader of the Campus, and hopefully if this conversation goes well, you will soon join our community. My men wouldn’t have marched you here at gunpoint if they didn’t think you were skilled enough to be a threat.” 

“Who says we’re not?” Negan leans back in his chair, casual despite the implication. 

Ingrid watches him carefully, studying him like she knows him. Like she knows exactly what’s going on inside his head. And, you suppose, maybe she does. Negan told you he used to be a leader too. 

“I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt in the spirit of mutual collaboration.” Ingrid says. “We can provide you with a home and food and safety, and you can help our community. You won’t be integrated automatically, of course, there will be a trial period of sorts, but I am perfectly prepared to give you a place to stay for the foreseeable future.” 

“What do you mean, ‘trial period?’” You ask, bringing Ingrid’s gaze away from Negan. 

“No weapons, no going outside of the community unsupervised until I decide you have earned a full, trusted spot on our campus. What do you say?” 

You don’t trust her. She’s letting you in far too easily, far too quickly. And she’s looking at Negan in a way that sets you on edge and makes your blood boil in equal measure. But she hasn’t given you the option to leave. And if you try to make a run for it, you don’t think you’d make it more than ten feet before you’d be dead. 

Looking at Negan, you see a smirk on his face as he looks at Ingrid. He can’t be sold on this. You know he’s smarter than that. But maybe he’s thinking about how many nights the two of you spent on the forest floor. How many times you’ve rebuffed him and how hungrily Ingrid is watching him. You can’t really blame him for wanting to risk it, even though the thought hurts. 

He meets your eyes briefly in a silent question. Feeling you have no other choice, you nod stiffly. Negan’s smile broadens as he turns back to Ingrid. 

“We say hell yes.” 

“Excellent.” She claps her hands together, “Welcome to the Campus.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! We're almost at the end! I would hint at what's to come in this particular chapter but I think you should just go ahead and read...

“Honey, I’m home!” Negan calls, entering the front hallway of the dorm suite Ingrid had given you. 

You lean your shoulder against the wall, trying to look unimpressed. The smile twitching its way across your face gives you away, though. He grins wider at the sight of your smile, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“Sit that pretty ass down because I have some fucking news for you, sweetheart.” 

“Oh no,” You say, padding over to the sofa. “Somehow I feel like the smile on your face is a terrible sign.” 

“The faith is over-fucking-whelming, really.” He says sarcastically, before dropping down next to you. “We’re going to a party tonight.” 

“What?” 

“Ingrid dropped in like one of those fucking hanging Halloween things that are meant to make you shit your pants while I was helping fix up the wall. Just popped up behind me Apparently we made the cut and there’s an official welcome to the college cult fucking bonfire thing tonight.” He leans back, slinging his arm over the back of the couch behind your back, smiling. “So I hope you have something hot to wear to this thing.” 

“I can’t believe this.” You frown, searching his face. “You’re actually excited about this.” 

“Hell yeah, how long has it been since  _ you _ had barbeque?” 

“Fucking hell, Negan!” You exclaim, pushing off the couch in agitation. “Doesn’t any of this bother you? We’ve been here for three goddamn days and they’re just letting us join the family? I don’t think so. Ingrid didn’t ask us where we’re from or what we’ve done or anything like that. She just let us in. And she’s clearly not stupid. You were a leader before, doesn’t that strike you at least a  _ little  _ weird?” 

Negan shrugs, unbothered. “She got one look at me and decided she couldn’t resist.” 

“Negan, this is serious! They could be–I don’t know,  _ we _ could be the barbeque.” 

He laughs at that, full-on, head back, belly laughs. Embarrassment and frustration alike swirl in your stomach. Your face hot, you turn to leave the room when his hand encircles your wrist and pulls you back to sit beside him. 

“Look, this whole thing stinks worse than elephant shit. You’re right.” He holds onto your hand, expression turning more sincere. “But I’m not worried about it. Hell, I’ll be in charge of this freaky-ass place by next week.” 

“Sure you will.” You scoff. “They have all our weapons and outnumber us by at least ten to one. Why  _ wouldn’t  _ you take over?” 

A smile spreads across his face, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes. “Don’t always need weapons to get what you want, sweetheart.” 

“So, what? You’re going to charm everyone into a coup?” 

You’re not serious, but it doesn’t sound that far-fetched. Negan could charm a snake into biting itself if he tried hard enough. 

“Not everyone.” He winks. 

“ _ Ingrid?” _ Your mouth falls open as you stare at him, incredulous. “You’re just going to seduce her into handing over her crown?” 

“Woah-oh there, sweetheart. I didn’t say anything about fucking her. Although now that you mention it, she’s got that scary headmistress thing going on that kinda get my gears–” 

“I got it.” You snap, pulling your hand out of his and crossing your arms. 

“Sweetheart,” Negan reaches up, touching your cheek and turning your head so you’re looking at him. “Are you jealous?” 

“Jealous?” Your voice is far too squeaky. “No. No, no, no.” 

He raises his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Because you are jealous. Of course you are. It’s been you and Negan, just the two of you, for weeks. You’ve gotten used to the smiles and the flirting, knowing you shouldn’t act on any of it, but also revelling in the fact that they were just for you. 

“I’m not jealous.” You repeat, defiantly meeting his gaze. 

“The lady doth protest too fucking much, methinks.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Negan bites his lip. His gaze tracks across your face, lingering on your lips for a moment. Then he smiles, meeting your eyes again. 

“Well don’t be jealous, sweetheart. I’m not actually planning to fuck her, but she clearly wants to fuck me, and that shit is going to help us out.” Negan stands up, offering his hand. 

You take it, reluctantly letting him pull you to your feet. He tugs you closer, and you curse yourself for not seeing that move coming. Negan leans close enough you can see every shade of amber in his eyes. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re still my girl.” He says, his deep voice sending a flutter of emotion through your chest. He spins you around and nudges you towards your room. “Now go get ready, baby. We got a fucking party to get to.” 

You’re about to turn around and say something smart-mouthed, but the quip is lost on your lips as Negan smacks your ass. You can hear him chuckling as you scurry off to your room and shut the door, leaning against the wood as you try to collect yourself. 

That man will be the death of you.

~

“I was basically a kid when it all started. I barely remember what life was like before all this.” 

You’ve been talking to Rowan for a while. They’re pretty much the only person you’ve met so far that you like. They’re Ingrid’s kid, but they don’t have any of the cool calculating gaze she seems to fix on everyone. Rowan looks about twenty, still baby-faced but clearly a better grasp on your new reality than the rest of people at the Campus. Everyone else you’ve met seems absurdly optimistic, caught-up in a view of life that’s gone now– worrying about getting a stain out of a shirt instead of the literal zombies wandering around outside their home. 

Comparatively, Rowan is amazing. 

“And all anyone can tell you is how great it used to be.” You say, taking a sip of your drink. “All the stuff you’re missing out on, right?” 

“Exactly!” 

“Honestly, kid, it wasn’t that great.” You say. “Sure, going to the movies was amazing and ice cream and not having to fight for your life all the time, but it was just as fucked up as it is now. Just in different ways. We had systems that oppressed people based on identity and disenfranchised the disenfranchised to the point that being dead was easier than trying to live anymore. I’m not saying things are better, but I saw just as much shit before as I do now. At least now the undead eat whoever they want, as long as they’re living.” 

“What were you? Before all this?” Rowan asks, intrigued. 

“I was a civil rights lawyer with the ACLU.” You laugh slightly at the confused look on their face. “Sorry, uh, American Civil Liberties Union. We tried to challenge injustice and protect people through the law. Not that that matters much anymore.” 

“But it does.” Rowan shakes their head. “It’s different now, but if we’re going to create something that lasts– which my mom and I are trying to do – there has to be some basis. Some foundation of rules about punishment and justice.” 

“Also forgiveness,” You add, “Always leave room for people to change. To improve and develop whenever possible. None of us would still be here without that.” 

Rowan goes quiet, glancing thoughtfully towards where their mother is talking to Negan. Negan’s hand is on the small of her back, his head bent close to whisper something in her ear. You watch as a sly smile stretches across her face in response. 

You know he’s playing her, but he’s really convincing. And it sends a sickly pang of jealousy through you. Taking a big swig of your drink, you quietly excuse yourself from talking with Rowan, moving towards the edge of the bonfire. 

Negan wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t need weapons to take over this place. From the moment the two of you walked into the bonfire party, he’s been charming everyone’s pants off. Especially Ingrid. She’s been glued to his side for the better part of two hours. You’d decided to leave them to it after about five minutes of her icey side-eye. 

You look back in their direction in time to see Ingrid laughing at something Negan said, running her hand down his arm. Rolling your eyes, you turn away again, wondering if anyone would notice if you quietly slipped away. You wonder if Negan would notice. 

Probably not. He hasn’t looked at you in over an hour. 

Your self-pity party is interrupted suddenly by the sound of a twig snapping off to your right. The hair rising on the back of your neck, you move further away from the party, walking towards the noise. 

But the rest of the quad is empty and dark. It was probably a squirrel. 

You’re about to turn back to the party when a hand clamps over your mouth and an arm wraps around your waist. You struggle, panic spiking in your chest. But the hand over your face is holding a cloth, filling your lungs with a strange smell. And then your head starts to feel fuzzy and your vision begins to swim and before you can think, the world has slipped away. 

~

Waking up again is a struggle. Your eyelids are heavy and your mind is fuzzy. Slowly, you manage to lift your head, blinking away the sleep from your eyes. 

For a moment, you think you’re back in the abandoned building after Brandon tried to kill you and everything that had passed since had been a dream. 

But it’s not the same. This time you’re tied to a chair, with a cloth knitted tightly around your head as a gag. 

And you’re not alone. 

As your vision clears, you focus on the figure standing by the door across from you. It’s Rowan. Next to him, Negan’s bat leans against the wall. Your stomach twists with unease and fear. 

You say Rowan’s name, the sounds muffled by the cloth. They don’t look at you, they just stare straight ahead. You pull against the ropes binding you to the chair, struggling against the restraints. At the sound, you can see Rowan stiffen. It’s a measured, carefully controlled non-reaction. One that tells you that they’re just a small part of whatever is about to happen. 

You continue to twist and pull against the rope, but they hold tight. Tears of panic and desperation prick at your eyes, your breathing ragged around the gag. Rowan squeezes their eyes shut, their hands curled into fists at their sides. 

Muffled echoes of voices beyond the sparse cell reach your ears, the familiar rumble of Negan’s voice making your stomach drop and your body go still. 

“I think you’ll really like what I have in store,” You hear Ingrid’s reply as the door unlatches and swings open. 

Negan walks in first, an easy smirk playing on his lips. “You bet your ass–” 

The smile drops in an instant as his gaze lands on you, tear-stained and tied up. You shout at him in warning, but it’s too late. Ingrid kicks him harshly in the back of the knees, sending him to the ground with a cry. Rowan quickly takes her place, keeping Negan down. 

“What the fucking fuck–” Negan roars, fighting back. 

For someone barely past adolescence, Rowan is surprisingly strong. Ingrid casually picks up Negan’s bat, wandering over to stand behind your chair. Negan stops struggling, the rage in his expression quickly melting into fear. 

“What do you want?” He asks, glaring at Ingrid. 

“I am  _ so _ glad you asked!” Ingrid intones, voice dripping with false sincerity. “For a long time, I thought I wanted you dead. You see, we  _ have _ met before. That night was the worst night of my entire life.” 

“Harpers Ferry.” 

“You do remember. Funny, I figured brutally murdering people was just part of your weekly routine.” There’s no humor in her voice, just a dangerous edge. 

“Look, I don’t do that shit anymore, okay?” Negan says, his gaze cutting back to you, “Just–this is between you and me. She doesn’t have to be a part of this shit.” 

“Oh but she does. See, I’m not finished.” Ingrid says, “For a long time, I thought I wanted you dead. I wanted to take what you took from Henry. I wanted your life to end just as brutally as you ended his. I wanted my kid to know that the man that killed their father wouldn’t just get away with it.” 

Rowan’s jaw is tightly clenched, tears of anger and grief shining in their eyes. Negan looks like he wants to throw up. 

“I didn’t know you had a kid.” 

“We didn’t take them on scavenging runs. That was Henry’s rule. He wanted to keep them safe.” Ingrid’s voice shakes. “But that doesn’t change anything. You were going to make your point no matter what: Negan owns you. Negan controls you. You are Negan, or you’re dead.” 

“Ingrid–” 

“Shut up!” She screeches, the bat swishing past your head as she drops it from her shoulder, making you flinch in fear. “Just– _ shut up _ ! I am  _ sick _ of your voice. Your jokes and your fucking charisma. You’re a psychopath. You’re a fucking monster.” 

Ingrid breathes for a moment, trembling and shaking in your periphery. Negan looks at you and it’s like you’re staring at a completely different person. All the confidence, all the bravado is gone. In its place, all you can see is guilt and fear. 

“You’re a monster and you deserve to suffer for what you did. See when you two walked into my office, I was ready to kill you. But then I saw how you looked at  _ her.”  _ Ingrid grabs your hair, pulling your head back roughly. “And I realized that I don’t want to take what you took from Henry. I want to take what you took from  _ me. _ I want you to know how it feels to see the person you love killed in front of you for nothing but a display of power. And then I’m going to hurt you until you  _ wish _ I’d killed you, until you’re jealous that she gets to die quickly and–” 

“Stop,” Negan begs, “Torture me, lock me up, beat me until I shit myself if that’s what you want. But don’t kill her. You don’t want to show your kid this is how it is, that innocent people have to die for you to feel like you win. She didn’t do anything to you.”

Rowan looks at you, and then at their mother. Their expression is frightened and lost. Still, they keep their hold on Negan. 

“You care about her. That’s enough.” Ingrid lifts the bat again, lining it up beside your head. 

You want to scream at her, to tell her that he  _ has _ suffered. He’s suffered loss and pain and hurt and he’s atoned for everything and he’s  _ changed _ . You want to shake her and make her understand that killing you won’t bring her husband back. You want to stop this, you want Negan to make you smile again. 

“Please,” Negan’s voice breaks and he struggles against Rowan’s grip. “Please don’t do this.” 

Ingrid brings the bat back over her shoulder, winding up for the swing. Adrenaline pumps through your system as the panic begins to take hold. 

“It’s too late.” Ingrid says, her voice cold. “Eleven goddamn years too late.” 

And then she swings the bat straight at your head. 

In the next moment, everything seems to happen at once. You’re vaguely aware of Negan’s voice shouting as you instinctively throw all your weight to the side, tipping yourself over onto the floor. You can feel the air moving just inches above your head as the bat passes by. 

Not expecting to miss, Ingrid is thrown off-balance. She topples over, landing on top of you as the bat clatters to the floor and rolls away. Before you can blink again, Ingrid is hauled off of you, Rowan scrambling to pin her to the floor. 

“No,” Ingrid screams, watching as Negan rushes to untie you. 

“Go!” Rowan shouts, struggling against their mother. “Go now!” 

Your brain is reeling, barely caught up with what’s happening. Negan grabs your hand in vice grip, pulling you to your feet and out the door, his bat held in the other hand. Behind you, Ingrid’s screams echo, the sound of rage and grief bouncing off the walls. You begin to look back, but Negan’s hand tightens around yours and you keep your gaze ahead. 

And the two of you run. You run like hell. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Here's the conclusion to Savior Complex. Thank you for reading! <3

Looking back, your escape from the Campus is a blur. You can remember bits and pieces from the adrenaline-fueled fever dream– breaking into the armory and storerooms while everyone else was still occupied by the bonfire; stuffing whatever supplies you could into bags; grabbing your knife from where Andrews had kept it locked up; Negan boosting you over the back wall before jumping down beside you; taking his hand again; running. 

You didn’t stop until dawn, stumbling across a gas station in the middle of miles and miles of abandoned farmland. Exhausted, adrenaline long-gone from your system, your hand slips from Negan’s as you move towards the decrepit building. You lean against the cracked wall and slide to the ground to rest for a moment. 

You watch with tired eyes as Negan keeps moving, prowling like a tiger around the abandoned cars. His jaw is set tightly, not in anger or fear, but resignation. You’re starting to get a little energy back when he finally finds a car that works, hot-wiring the engine until it rumbles to life. Negan walks back over to you and helps you to your feet. 

Following him to the car, unease settles in the pit of your stomach. He hasn’t said a word since you left the Campus. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without his smooth voice and crass comments. You don’t like it. 

He takes your backpack and tosses it onto the passenger seat before stepping back for you to get behind the wheel. You stop, unease turning into a sinking sense of understanding. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Negan?” You tease, the sinking feeling getting worse as he doesn’t react. “Seriously, what’s wrong? You never let me drive.” 

Negan clears his throat, looking away for a moment before meeting your gaze. “I’m not going with you.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Don’t fucking do this.” 

“Do what? You’re the one making a dumbass decision.” You’re getting angry now, taking a step closer. 

“You know what, sweetheart, you’re right. I made a dumbass decision, but it’s not this one. No, my big fucking mistake was helping your sorry ass in the first place.” 

It’s a calculated blow and it hits you right in the chest. But you can see the hurt behind the insult. There’s too much history between you for you to believe it. You know him too well. 

“Stop it.” You press your finger to his chest, getting in his face. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work. I’m not getting in that car unless you give me a reason that isn’t complete bullshit.” 

Negan grabs your wrist tightly, holding it between the two of you. His jaw ticks and you can see a flicker of anger cross his face. 

“Sweetheart, just get in the goddamn car. We don’t have time for this shit. They’re probably tracking us right now.” 

“Get in the car with me, and I’ll go.” 

Negan lets go of you, pacing away. He mutters something that sounds like “should have stayed in the fucking cell,” before turning back to face you. 

“I didn’t remember Ingrid. Not until she was standing behind you with that fucking bat in her hands. I didn’t fucking remember her because I am exactly who she said I am. I didn’t tell you everything when I told you who I was. I didn’t–fuck, I thought maybe things had fucking changed enough that it didn’t matter. What goddamn stupid idea that was.” He lifts the bat, holding it so close to your face you flinch away. “I killed people with Lucille. I killed a whole lot of fucking people. Not because they killed my brother or stole my shit– although some of them did that too. I killed them to show them who was in charge. To show them that from the moment they met me, their lives weren’t theirs to run anymore. They were mine. People are fucking resources, sweetheart, and I sure as hell was going to use that resource.

“And I don’t regret that shit, either. If I got to do it again, I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing about how I led the Sanctuary. But that’s not me anymore. I thought I could leave that shit behind and start over, but I just dragged you into it with me. I put you in danger. And I regret that a whole fucking lot.” Negan runs a hand down his face, voice getting rough with emotion. “So you gotta go, sweetheart. ‘Cause I pissed off a lot of people and not everyone has a kid like Rowan to stop them from using you to hurt me.” 

“No,” You shake your head, tears filling your eyes, “No. I’m not leaving you.” 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Negan’s hand finds your cheek, his thumb swiping away a tear. “Feed my fucking savior complex for me. Let me save you from myself.” 

You grab his wrist like he’d grabbed yours, looking up at him. “You’re so stupid.” 

“Now, that’s no fucking way to say goodbye–” 

“Just– fucking shut up and listen for once, okay?” You take a breath, preparing your words carefully. “When we met, you didn’t help me to save my life. You did it to save yourself. You needed something, someone to keep you from becoming whoever you used to be– who Brandon and Ingrid thought you still are. I never met that guy, but I know that’s not you. That guy wouldn’t have stuck it out with my stubborn ass time after time even when he had no reason to. That guy wouldn’t have begged for his own life, let alone mine. That guy wouldn’t have given a shit about me unless I had something to give him. And I would probably have hated him. 

“But I don't hate  _ you _ . I care about you more than anyone else in this fucked up reality we have to live in. And if you care about me as much as I care about you, you wouldn’t make me leave you. You’d realize that making me leave is hurting me and if you cared it would be hurting you—”

Before you can finish, Negan pulls you into him, his other hand curving around your waist. You let go of his wrist in surprise and his hand slides under your hair to cradle the back of your head. Negan hesitates for an instant, searching your face, before his lips are on yours in a searing kiss. 

You melt against him, your hands gripping the material of his shirt. Kissing back, you press closer to him. Every single excuse, every reason you’d repeated over and over for not crossing this line slips away, paling in comparison to how  _ right _ this feels. 

When you pull back for air, there’s a shadow of Negan’s signature smirk on his face. 

“It  _ is _ hurting me, sweetheart,” He says, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “Worse than a goddamn kick in the nuts.”

You laugh lightly, smoothing your hand over his shoulder. “Then why do it?” 

“Because I have to keep you safe.” 

“Jesus Christ, have you been asleep the whole time we’ve known each other? I’m safest when I’m with you. Without you, I’d be a pile of fucking guts on a bus.” 

“That’s a fucking lovely image.”

“My point exactly.” You touch his cheek, running your fingers over the scruff of his beard. “Asking me to leave is the dumbass decision. Don’t make it.” 

Negan looks like he wants to argue, but before he has the chance you’re kissing him again. One hand finds the small of your back, bringing you as close as possible. A sort of rumbling groan travels up from his chest as Negan kisses you back with an intensity that leaves your knees weak. 

“Shit, sweetheart, you’re not making it easy.” 

You can see his resolve crumbling before your eyes. 

“Negan,” You murmur, holding his gaze. “Please.” 

He looks away for a moment, jaw ticking. When he turns back, a smile spreads across his face. 

“Since you asked so fucking nicely…”

You grin, kissing him quickly again before stepping back and turning towards the car. 

“Nuh uh, sweetheart,” Negan clicks his tongue, swatting your ass. “I’m driving.” 

~

It takes three weeks to get to Maryland, and this time the two of you fly past the state line in the car. 

Negan holds the wheel lazily in his left hand, his right resting on your thigh. His palm is warm against your skin, his fingers drawing meaningless patterns against the denim of your jeans. If he were anyone else, you’d write it off as an absent-minded gesture. 

But this is Negan. He knows exactly what he’s doing and how it sends heat tingling through your body. 

You shift slightly in your seat, wishing he would move his hand just a few inches…

He glances at you, a smirk quirking at the corner of his lips. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

“Oh don’t play dumb, asshole. You know exactly what you’re doing.” 

“And what’s that?” He chuckles, sliding his palm towards the inseam of your pants. 

“Watch it, cowboy.” You warn, “Or I’m gonna make you pull over in a minute.” 

“Why wait that long?” Negan pumps the brakes, pulling the car to a stop along the side of the road. 

You laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt. Negan lowers the back of his seat, grabbing your waist and helping you over the console to straddle his lap. You lean down and kiss him, your hands cupping his face. He smiles into the kiss, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush against the soft skin of your stomach. 

As you roll your hips against his, Negan groans. You can feel it rumble through his chest. He leans up, chasing your lips as you sit up and begin unbuttoning your overshirt. Negan’s hands fall to your hips, fingers fumbling to unbutton your jeans. 

A noise from outside the car makes you both go suddenly still, arousal quickly replaced by wariness. Beyond the car, a small group of the undead shuffle closer. Too many to ignore, and too close to finish what you’re doing before dealing with it. 

Negan squeezes his eyes shut, the back of his head hitting the headrest. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

You pat his chest, opening the driver’s side door and getting off of him. Feet hitting the pavement, you draw your knife and head for the undead. Hearing the car door shut, you know Negan isn’t far behind. 

The undead split up, two drawn towards you while the other three are locked onto Negan. You take the first one down quickly, pulling your bloodied knife out of its head before lunging at the second. 

As its body drops, you hear Negan’s voice from off to the side. “Fucking shitballs!” 

Two undead lie on the road, their skulls smashed to bits. But the third seems to have caught him off-guard, knocking Negan down. He’s on his back, his bat pushing against the undead’s chest to keep it from chewing his face off. 

You move quickly, grabbing the undead by the shoulder and wrenching it back as you plunge your knife into its temple. Negan pushes the body off of him, grimacing at the blood now staining his leather jacket. 

Standing above him, you set your hands on your hips, a huge grin on your face. “Well would you look at that.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” He grumbles, getting to his feet. 

“Now, now, sweetheart,” Dropping your voice and swinging your hips forward, you try your best to imitate him. “That’s no way to talk to someone who just saved your pretty little ass.” 

Negan levels a glare at you, but you can see the smile twitching at his lips. 

“Damn shame we don’t have Saturday Night Live anymore,” he muses, hefting the bat over his shoulder and heading back towards the car. “You’re pretty good.” 

You jog to catch up with him. “Really?” 

“Fuck no.” He laughs, “But you were right, I  _ do  _ have a pretty little ass.” 

“You’re a dick.” You shove him playfully with your shoulder, starting to walk around the car towards the passenger side. 

Negan grabs your hand before you get far, pulling you back and pressing you up against the side of the car. “What was that about my dick?” 

You roll your eyes, “Smooth. You really know how to get a girl going.” 

But then his thigh is pressed between your legs, expertly working the seam of your jeans. Your breath hitches in your throat. Negan swallows the gasp with a kiss that leaves your lips swollen and your lungs breathless. 

“Get in the car,” He orders, voice low and gravely. 

“Can I drive afterwards?” You ask, fumbling behind you for the handle of the door to the backseat. 

“Absolutely the fuck not.” Negan rumbles against your lips. 

But as he pushes you down to lay across the backseat, holding the back of your head to keep it from hitting the top of the door, you realize you don’t care. It doesn’t matter if he lets you drive. It doesn’t even matter where you’re going. 

You’re together. And that’s enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment below to tell me how I'm doing! This process works best with feedback <3


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